Coming Down
by CertifiedGeek
Summary: The tenth incarnation of the Doctor is experiencing some difficulties following his regeneration. A short introspective previously posted on another site.


A/N: This is a 10th Doctor fanfic originally published several years ago on another site. I hope you like it.

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><p>Coming Down.<p>

_"__The regeneration's going wrong. I can't stop myself."_

Somewhere in the belly of the TARDIS the Doctor sat alone listening to the sound of the rain as it poured outside, bouncing on the tough outer exterior of the time ship, drumming out a tune that only nature could understand. Surrounded by a library of books the Time-Lord was perched, precariously, on the top step of the stairs that lead to the upper levels of his magnificent collection of historical records, knees up under his chin, arms wrapped tightly around his chest. The TARDIS, knowing the Doctor as she did, had granted him the sound of the rain which would normally have been silenced the moment the front door was closed. She hummed quietly in the background never quite leaving him but giving the Doctor the space he required.

The regeneration had left its mark on him this time. He could feel it, tugging away at his soul. He had told Rose he was still the same person, same thoughts, same feelings, just a different body; but he felt different this time, not about the world or the universe, that was the same, and certainly he still felt the same perfect and inexplicable connection with Rose, but he was different inside himself. Nine had been dark and moody, brooding, quick to anger on occasion, but he had been predictable. The regeneration, or more precisely the problems with the regeneration, had left him…changeable… to say the least. Every incarnation of his body had its own personal idiosyncrasies, and he got used to them every time, after a bit of practice. Like Nine's ears, he'd grown quite fond of those once they'd stopped catching his attention every time he went to shave, and the two sugars in his tea which he now found excessively sweet. It was more than that, this was beyond the physical, and it was taking a little more getting used to than the other quirks.

He had fought the Sycorax in his pyjamas, well not even his pyjamas which was a bit disconcerting, and it had been invigorating, he had been ecstatic at his victory. He had even had Christmas dinner with Rose's mother and half of the Powell Estate — by the time Jackie Tyler had finished calling all her friends telling them how her daughter had saved the Earth — and he had laughed and joked and told stories for hours, full of the spirit of the rebirth and the 100% proof liquor that Jackie had drenched the Christmas pudding with. He'd hugged Rose goodnight and watched her head back up the stairs to her mother's apartment, the euphoria of the day suddenly draining from his body leaving him oddly low and blue. After that he had spent a few days by himself, getting used to the 'new' him.

Now it was the end of January. Unexpectedly he had found himself almost domesticated, taking Rose on day-trips, rather than long adventures. She had wanted to spend some time with Jackie, and Mickey-the-Idiot, and after a pretence of displeasure he had agreed in the short term. The TARDIS needed maintenance, and the regeneration hadn't left him in the best of shapes. It was the perfect time for her to enjoy family life, and it kept Jackie from moaning that she never saw her daughter anymore. The trips out had been fantastic, collecting spare parts for his ship, riding the Tidal Wave of Time at the universe's biggest theme park —designed by humans in the thirty-fourth century — and they had even managed to get themselves caught up in a domestic dispute between two rival factions on a planet in the Zilatrain system which he had enjoyed immensely.

Of course he had solved the conflict, in charismatic fashion he thought, by talking incessantly for 19 hours about the possibilities the universe could offer such 'dynamic and industrious' people such as they. When he and Rose had returned to the TARDIS he had then spent another 2 hours rambling to her about the twists and turns of the universe, and about how time was such an interesting concept. He had only stopped when his voice finally gave out on him.

Rose said he was hyperactive.

"What happened to you?" she said one day, "You're like a kid that ate a tube full of blue Smarties."

He had grinned and carried on with what he was doing, fixing something on the console whilst listening to a live broadcast from Woodstock, and puzzling over the principle of non-interference in history that his planet had once believed in so ardently.

There was a price to pay for the exhilaration that sent him spinning about time and space, a charge for living so fast, bouncing between galaxies. Everything had its cost, the yin and the yang, and he had always had his dark side. The lows were devastating. They came unannounced sending him into a maudlin state, where he berated himself for his failings, the risks he had taken with Rose and the rest of humanity. They left him silent and isolated, unwilling to do anything beyond sit and stare at whatever was in front of him. Rose had seen this too, although he had been careful to protect her from the worst of it, taking himself off for a few days at a time, claiming he had "routine business to attend to" taking the TARDIS to some distant Hebridian island and watching the sun set over the crags and the sea.

_"__The regeneration is going wrong. I can't stop myself."_

Bleakly he had thought that he would never be able to stop himself again. Always chasing after adventure, experiencing the exhilaration of exploration, grinning madly at Rose, running…always running. Then crashing into oblivion when it was all over. It was getting easier, he was learning how to read himself again, the tell-tale signs that he was coming down from the high were clearer. From his lofty, secure, position at the top of the stairs he could observe his world below him, his little corner of Gallifrey, and he could watch for the door to open, popping back into the mask of himself when Rose dropped in to get away from the overzealous Jackie and her barmy friends. He was getting quite good at that now, his new face was more expressive than the old one and it had taken a little time to form an expression that concealed just about everything he felt.

One day he might let Rose in.

One day he might even be honest with himself.

But for now he would sit at the top of the stairs, listening to the rain, and balance on the edge of oblivion.


End file.
